Page 14 of Kid Gloves

"Because I spent thirty years needing the dictionary and nobody gave me one." He steals a roll off my plate, easy as his brother is fortified, and his grin softens into something that's pure warning wrapped in kindness. "And because he re-did the guest house water heater in March. Nobody was even living there."

Down the table, Cash sets down his tea, looks at me, and delivers his evening's address: "The shy pup. Good work." Five words. Jake mimes a stadium wave. Cash ignores him with the serenity of a monument, and I'm grinning down at my plate like an idiot when I look up and find Wade watching me across the table with an expression he doesn't holster fast enough, and the noise of the table drops away for one long second like someone lifted the needle off the record.

Callie sees it. Of course Callie sees it. She stands, collecting dishes nobody asked her to collect.

"Delaney. Help me with the pie."

The kitchen smells like fifty years of Sundays. Callie hands me a knife and a pie and doesn't even pretend.

"So."

"Don't."

"I haven't said anything."

"You said 'so' with an agenda. I know a loaded 'so.' I've fired several." I cut the pie with unnecessary precision. "It's a work arrangement. There's a contract. There's a title. It's all very laminated."

"He gave you the obstacle course."

"By schedule."

"Delaney." She leans against the counter, arms crossed, and I get, briefly, what it must be like to be a dog on her exam table — nowhere to hide and no judgment either, which is worse. "I've been at Iron Creek almost a year. That man has never once let anyone touch his program. His brothers ask permission. I ask permission, and I'm marrying into it. You've been here nine days and you're writing on his whiteboard."

"That was one incident report⁠—"

"He left the porch light on for your goat."

"That's — livestock safety."

"Your left eye twitches when you lie. Anyone ever tell you that?"

My hand goes to my eye before my dignity can stop it, and she laughs, and I point the pie knife at her with intent. "You're supposed to be the nice one. The town said you were the nice one."

"I'm a vet. I'm nice to things that can't talk. You can talk, you're just choosing not to." She hops up to sit on the counter, heels knocking the cabinet in a way that would get anyone else killed in Rosie's kitchen, and softens exactly one degree. "Look. Free history, then I'll drop it. A year ago a dog dragged a pilot into my clinic in Colorado, and I had a list of reasons the length of your driveway why that was a work arrangement. I know the list, Delaney. I could recite yours from here. 'It's temporary' is number one, 'I don't take charity' is number three."

"What's number two?"

"'I've been wrong before.'" She says it kindly, which is the only reason it doesn't leave a mark you could see from the porch. And the horrible thing, the really horrible thing, is how good this feels — a kitchen, a woman my age with a knife and opinions, the shorthand already forming between us like we've done this a hundred Sundays instead of once. I moved home to Gran's after Denver and I've spent two years being everyone's acquaintance. I'd forgotten what the other thing felt like.

Which is the only excuse I've got for what I do next, which is almost tell her.

"Callie. If someone offered—" The letter, the number, the navy-blue envelope in my junk drawer with its market conditions. It's right there behind my teeth, and I'm tired of being its only staff. "If you got an offer that solved everything, but taking it meant admitting everyone was right about you⁠—"

The kitchen door bangs open. Winnie, breathless, delighted, folder abandoned: "Miss Delaney. Your goat's in the Buick."

There is a beat of profound silence.

"In it?" I say.

"She did the window with her horn. Grandpa's so happy. He's been wanting to see the goats."

Callie looks at me. I look at Callie. Whatever was behind my teeth swallows itself, and we run.

Hank Mercer is not so happy as advertised — Hank Mercer is delighted, which is worse, because he's feeding Brisket a dinner roll through the Buick's violated window while she stands in the driver's seat like she's about to demand everyone's insurance information.

"Fine animal," Hank announces. "Look at the problem-solving. You breed her?"

"Rescued. She came with opinions pre-installed."